Dark Side: No More Heroes 3
by samanthichelle
Summary: She hated the snow. That's one of the only things I knew of my mother to be true. She told me that the only time it snowed in Santa Destroy was when there was a signal of change. A devastating yet beautiful change. Now that I know what she was talking about, I have only ever seen the devastating half of it. (Jeane Cooldown Fic: Rated M for language/violence/themes.)


AN: Well...I finally did it. This story is a reality. Please enjoy, and feel free to leave any comments and reviews! I hope you guys like it!

* * *

><p><strong><em>She hated the snow.<em>**

**_That's one of the only things I knew of my mother to be true. She despised it. She would keep me from going to school and let me stay home with her only because she didn't want an excuse to go out in it. She would make stories about being too busy or sick to go to work, throwing on a never-ending marathon of movies to keep me entertained. I asked, begged her to let me go out, so that I could rush out into the wondrous world of white, watching the snowflakes fall on my fuzzy hat, only to come back inside with rosy cheeks and a stuffy nose. She denied every time._**

**_When I asked why, she told me that the only time it snowed in Santa Destroy was when there was a signal of change. A devastating yet beautiful change._**

**_Now that I know what she was talking about, I have only ever seen the devastating half of it._**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter One: Speed Dial<strong>

_December, 2017 - Seattle, Washington_

"Essie, no! Get down!" I shouted at my aunt's Ragdoll cat, picking the fluffy creature up before she could shred her claws into my calculus notes. She looked at me with her round, blue eyes in confusion as I plopped her back down on the floor. Unphased, she went on about her business and walked off.

I shoved the notebook into my bookbag, a dark turquoise messenger with zippered pockets on the flap, before smoothing my hands over my loose, olive hoodie to straighten it out a bit. My hands were trembling with a subtle yet ever-present anxiety; two more days, and the determinant of my future would be handed to me via the SATs.

Sighing, I pushed my braid off my shoulder to let it fall behind me, strapping the bookbag to my shoulder and grabbing my wallet off the pale, wooden dresser before shutting off the lights to my room. I would've given anything to just skip school and curl into the covers to gain back missed hours of sleep, but my last SAT Prep meeting was that night, and there was a school rule that said a student could not attend after school activities if they skipped. So I was out of luck.

I jogged down the steps and headed into my aunt's kitchen, where she was busy pouring herself a cup full of coffee. My Aunt Brieda wasn't really my aunt at all, more of an extremely distant cousin, but we both agreed to call her an aunt to avoid questions or confusion. She was a very easy-going and jolly woman with a scattered brain, in my opinion. She worked for a non-profit organization in downtown Seattle that dealt with child hunger in the U.S.  
>She cocked an auburn eyebrow at my sagging bookbag and the distressed look on my face.<p>

"Jeaney, I thought your SATs weren't until the end of this week."

I had gotten used to people calling me that at that moment of time, but it still didn't stick right with me. I kept thinking of the huge and blue character Robin Williams voiced in that Disney movie.

"They aren't, but I can't take any chances," I replied calmly, opening the fridge and pulling a fresh, green apple from the crisper drawer. Sticking it into my mouth to hold, I took the jug of orange juice and shut the fridge with my free hand, grabbing a cup from the dish strainer by the sink.

"Calm down, you'll do fine!" She exclaimed, dark eyes holding the same sparkle that showed whenever Essie plopped into her lap on the couch, or when more and more people started showing up to local benefits her organization held. "Your average is a...what is it...three-point-five, right?"

"Ninety-three-point-nine, Aunt Brieda," I corrected her after taking the apple out of my mouth, setting it onto a clean napkin before pouring orange juice into the plastic cup I grabbed. "They don't use weighted averages until college, which is the reason these tests mean so much to me."

"You're going to get breakfast at the school, right?" she questioned, eyeing my choice of apple and miniscule amount of beverage. I shook my head in response, preferring a small yet energizing sustenance in the mornings. I gulped down the citrus drink, rinsing out the cup before grabbing the apple and napkin, heading for the back door.

"Oh! Jeaney, do you mind picking up some eggs, bread and milk on the way home from school?" she called out after me, adding three heapings of sugar into her coffee. "I'm making breakfast for dinner!"

"Mno problehmf!" I cried, chunks of Granny Smith muffling my voice as I scratched Essie behind the ear goodbye before going out. I heard her mewl at me in response as I shut the screen door.

Seattle is infamous for its rain, being settled onto the side of a mountain facing away from the coast of Washington. Assuming everyone who is reading this took some form of science class in school, you should know that the evaporated water from the ocean creates clouds, the clouds drift over to Seattle, and it rains. It wasn't raining when I went outside, but it had the night before. The brick walls of the houses around me and the concrete cement that made up the sidewalks and streets were dark and damp, and I could still smell the pleasant, fresh scent of rainfall that reminded me of salt water. It was cold out, and a faint flurry of snow was falling, but nothing was sticking to the ground. I pulled the hood of my hoodie out from underneath my winter coat and tugged it over my head, clapping it over my ears so the cloth would keep me warm. I bit into the apple again, enjoying the tart flavor as I walked the few blocks to the public transit stop. I smiled at the short, elderly woman already standing there, her white hair blending in with the snow flurries. Rumor had it that she had OCD (legitimately, not like some teenager claiming to have it just because they can't stand to have the pen on their desk at a one-hundred-eighty-one degree angle) and every day she would run around the city picking up all of the litter and stray bits of garbage off the streets. Eyeing the black garbage bag clutched in her fingers, I considered it to be true.

She smiled back. We never talked. I was always a bit apprehensive, maybe even shy towards strangers, and she appeared to be the same. We stood there in silence until the bus showed up. I let her get on first, before giving a slip to the driver with the day's date. My aunt had bought a year's worth of bus fees for me for a good deal, so I used them to access the bus every morning for school. I walked to the back of the bus and stood, hand tight against the cold, metallic rod hanging above me. The transit was already packed, and I knew others who were much older than I was would be getting on. I tried not to glare at one of my classmates as he just sat in one of the seats at the front, legs sprawled out in such a fashion that he would force new riders to walk around them. I didn't know too much about him other than he skipped school on an exam day once to get the new first-person-shooter game out of the store at a midnight release, and I only knew that because he said it out loud during English. Nothing against first-person-shooter games at all, I just think people shouldn't skip class just to get their hands on them.

I finished my apple, dunking the core into the trashcan outside James A. Garfield High School, home of the Bulldogs, after getting off the bus. The first-person-shooter guy hopped off and joined his friends on the ledge. I shivered as a crisp wind blew my braid off my shoulder, wondering why the hell I chose to wear capris to school as I walked up the steps, eager to just grab my things from my locker and get to homeroom for a little extra study time.

The hallways were as busy as ever. It was the Winter Pep Assembly today, where student athletes who played winter sports were recognized and other school organizations such as the dance crew and the choir gave a preview to what they would be doing next semester. The cheerleaders flounced around each other in tight-knit groups scattered amongst the halls, wearing their vibrant violet and wholesome white uniforms, going over their routine via word of mouth (I had a great respect for cheerleaders; I couldn't do a split, and I had no clue what a back-handspring was unless you showed me). Half of the student body was wearing the colors, a girl at her locker applying purple lipstick to her cheeks to spell out "GO BULLDOGS!", while the other half were or pretended to be apathetic, counting down the days until summer visited Seattle once again.

I barely made it to my own locker, the last one on the left beside one of the German classrooms, when Beth Kibbitsch rounded on me.

"Where were you last night?! We were down one for teams! I called you six times!"

Beth was my best girl friend. She embodied what I most certainly was not; bold, vibrant, colorful (in language and in wardrobe), snarky, brave, not afraid to speak her mind. If you were to describe her appearance in a clique-y kind of term, I would mix a hipster, a punk, and a Parisian-wannabe to get Beth down to a tee. Not that there was anything wrong with that, she was definitely more open and outspoken on who she was than I would've been. And she called herself a Parisian-wannabe, so I can't take credit for that backhanded term.

"I took the phone off the hook so it wouldn't distract me. I told you, I needed to study."

"Bullshit," she countered as I flicked my eyes over my organization system. I had my classes organized by color in order of the rainbow: red for first period, orange for second, et cetera. In each category was a corresponding colored notebook, folder, and book cover used on the book. First period was World History, so I pulled out the red notebook, red folder, and the textbook covered with a red cloth.

"No, I was seriously studying!"

"I'm talking about the 'need' part. You don't 'need' to study shit, you have perfect marks where it counts. We seriously needed you last night, the other team crushed us!"

"You talk about Boardgame-Online as if it were football to the United States," I commented, picking a stray bit of fuzz off her grey newsboy cap.

"Thanks. And don't change the subject. You have a near-goddamn one-hundred percent in English, you average an A in math...if you were studying for the Spanish test that's today, I could understand!"

"We have a Spanish test today?" I asked indifferently, taking my SAT Prep book out of my bookbag and setting it on top of my locker. "Oh, no, whatever will I do."

"Cut the shit...why do you never put effort into that class, or Accounting?"

"Because I don't like putting effort into classes I know I will never use when I could be fueling it into what I know I'll need."

"Pretty rough talk for an undeclared career path."

"Ouch. _That's_ rough talk," I added, brushing some of my blonde bangs from my vision as I quickly swiped a bit of lip balm on. "Isn't Fish undeclared, too?"

"Well, yeah, but he nearly fails everything. You don't have an excuse."

As if the Devil himself had heard, Fish popped right up behind Beth, his skinny and long arms catching her from behind in an embrace.

"What about my grades?"

Beth shrieked in surprise, and I rolled my eyes. Benjamin Fisher was my best (and only) guy friend, as well as Beth's boyfriend, third year running. He was possibly the tallest kid in junior year, yet he flat-out refused Coach Aritza's offer for a position on the basketball team, claiming he's not one for "running around mindlessly trying to get a ball through a circle." I'm really sorry if there's any basketball players reading this. Those are his words, not mine.

Beth snatched the green notebook from my locker, turned around, and whacked him hard in the cheek with it. He recoiled, rubbing the red spiral mark on his face as she yelled.

"FISH, WHAT THE HELL?!"

"Hey!" I cried, jerking the notebook back. "Careful! Those are chem notes…"

I was ignored, Fish giving a shrug to his girlfriend, combing his shaggy brown hair out of his eyes.

"You know you love me...and what about my grades?"

"Apparently you flunking everything is okay compared to me flunking Spanish," I replied briskly, sliding the green notebook back where it should be, checking the state of my braid in the mirror taped to the inside of my locker. No flyaways, no chunks peeking out of the center. Good day, so far.

"Fish, tell her not to obsess over the SATs, already," Beth sighed, finally accepting his embrace half-heartedly. "She won't listen to me."

"I _need_ to obsess! This is my future!"

Fish cleared his throat in thought.

"My own words might not help...but here's a thought: 'Time takes it all whether you want it or not, time takes it all. Time bares it away, and in the end there is only darkness. Sometimes we find others in that darkness, and sometimes we lose them there again'."

I stared at him.

"What the fuck does that Stephen King quote have to do with the SATs?!"

Beth scoffed, looking up at the taller being hugging her waist. "Fish, go home."

"I wouldn't miss a pep assembly for the world," he opposed as I shut my locker, twisting the knob a few times to make sure it locked properly. Seeing this, he kissed Beth's temple before removing his arms around her.

"Alright, off to history with us. Farewell, fair maiden."

"Shut up, Fish," she replied with a smile, pressing a kiss to his mouth. Most say it sucks being the third wheel, but I couldn't possibly be more lucky. This just means people in the hallway stare at them kissing instead of me obsessing over my textbook.

* * *

><p>"Jeane...you're getting pizza on the book," Aimee Ryans pointed out to me at lunch.<p>

I sighed, plucking the fried cheese off the thin, flimsy page, popping it into my mouth as I copied down the twentieth problem. I looked up as a crunchy rustle broke my attention.

"Shit…" Aimee cursed, leaning over to pick up the pom-pom that'd fallen out of her sports bag. My other best girl friend was both a cheerleader and a member of the Garfield volleyball team, as was I. I have no idea how she balances them both when the seasons conflict, but she told me she'd been doing both since middle school.

"What are you guys doing for the routine?" I asked blankly, not wanting to be rude to her but at the same time figure out the hypotenuse of triangles A, B, and C.

"You'll see! We're giving you guys a sneak peek at our routine for finals...Coach Sable thinks we might get the gold trophy this year."

"Good! Good luck."

"Jeane...close the book. You're freaking me out."

Giving her another sigh, I quickly flipped the book closed, looking at her solemnly. We were almost doppelgangers, except her blonde hair was thicker and more wavy, and both of her eyes were blue. I have heterochromia, but I got tired of people flipping out over it, so I grew my bangs out a bit.

"I'm sorry, okay? Just nervous."

"It's not just about the SATs, is it? Because you're usually pretty calm about tests," Aimee considered, popping an orange section into her mouth. "Mrs. Delores handed you a C on the Spanish quiz today and you took it like a champion."

"I don't want to talk about it, is all."

She shook her head. "No, no. Implosive energy is bad. Let it out, or you'll end up on tonight's news."

"That's not funny."

"Jeane."

"Okay!" I gave in, chomping a thick piece of crust off my pizza. "My dad hasn't replied to any of my calls for the past two weeks."

"Wait, that's it?" Aimee asked incredulously. "He's gone weeks, even a month without calling before."

"That's only because he was out on business, and he told me so at least a week before going."

"Maybe it was an emergency thing."

"Look, just don't say anything to Beth or Fish," I requested, my hand pressing flat against my forehead, feeling the heat radiate off my skin. I hoped it was temporary and that this wasn't a fever. "I just want to get the pep assembly over with, ride the bus home and hit the books. No distractions...including my dad."

"Well, okay...but call me if you need help, or just want to talk, okay? My parents are out, brother's got a football game. I can swing by and we can study together."

"You're much more understanding than Beth...she's upset I missed Boardgame-Online."

She smiled. "I know. My team beat hers last night."

"Wait, you play?!"

* * *

><p>The rest of the day went uneventfully. After lunch, I attended English and Chemistry. At the pep rally, which took up sixth and seventh period, I stood up when the volleyball team was recognized, then sat back down and watched with anticipation for the clock to strike three as the dance crew and choir did their routines and such. Finally, the golden hour arrived, and before Beth could again hound me about online gaming, I retrieved my bookbag and dashed to the bus stop. I stood in the same place, gripping the metal rod fixed to the ceiling of the bus to prevent myself from falling as it turned, watching that kid stretch his legs out to the annoyance of everyone. I got off a stop early to run into the corner store and pick up the groceries my aunt asked me for. On my way home, I noticed the elderly woman walk by, her garbage bag skidding against the ground with the added weight. I smiled and waved, not waiting for a reaction as I quickly stepped up to the front door.<p>

"Hey, Essie," I greeted the fluffball as I walked in, shutting the door behind me. She paid no mind to me, sinking her teeth into one of her many little toys. A note along with a 20LB bill was left on the coffee table.

_Going to have a late night at work. Keep the door locked and don't worry about me. Here's some money for pizza._

_- Aunt Brieda_

"Well, that's good...no disturbances," I thought to myself, picking up the currency and calling the local pizza place. I needed the brain food.

I washed the dishes while waiting for the delivery person. He gave me a weird look as he realized I was the only one there ordering two pizzas, but he didn't question me as I let him keep the change as a tip. I made sure Essie's food bowl was filled before hauling the boxes of pizza to my room.

My locker may be neat and organized, but as for the moment, my desk certainly wasn't. Papers were scattered over the desk, ranging from notes and worksheets to study from to paperwork and applications to stray bits of mail from different colleges begging me for my consideration. It peeved me to no end, but I knew once I organized everything, it all would just get thrown around everywhere. I tore a chunk of cardboard off the lid of one of the pizza boxes to use as a plate and helped myself to two slices to start out, sitting down at my desk and cracking to it.

It was a good four hours and nine slices later when I finally decided to rest my eyes for a few minutes. Stretching my arms out, I stood up and shook out my legs. Sometime during my excruciating session, Essie had jumped up onto my bed and curled up in between my pillows. She was used to having her T.V. time with Aunt Brieda at this time, so she probably felt lonely.

I glanced at the clock. Close to ten.

"Brieda shouldn't be this late...let me call her, girl."

I had a cellphone, but when I was home, I preferred to use the home phone installed in my room to avoid colleges and telemarketers from spamming my cellphone. I picked it up off of its receiver, quickly punching in Aunt Brieda's work number.

Nothing. I frowned critically at the phone, before blinking in realization. I'd forgotten to plug the line back in after studying last night.

"For the love of…" I knelt down below my desk and quickly pushed the plug back in. I got back up, noticing a red light blinking on the home phone.

I was starting to praise myself for preventing telemarketers distracting me with their crap when I clicked the green button, holding the device to my ear.

_You have eleven messages._

"Jesus!" I exclaimed, listening to the first three from Beth, going on about how they were losing the game and asking where I was. I was about to start hitting the delete button when the fourth message came up, Beth's voice now frantic.

_"Jeane! Where the _fuck_ are you?! Have you seen the news? Everyone's flipping out!"_

What?

I skipped through the rest of the message. This time, Aimee's voice echoed through the receiver.

_"Jeane, I saw the news...I'm so sorry. Please, call me back. I don't want you by yourself."_

"What the fuck is everyone talking about…?" I wanted answers.

I skipped through more messages from Beth and Aimee, some from kids I didn't even know, when I finally got that answer. Or parts of it.

Around the ninth message was a gruff voice I didn't recognize.

_"Jeane Cooldown, this is Officer Frank Beckett from Santa Destroy Prison. We've tried to reach you a few times, but your phone is apparently off the line. As soon as you get this, please contact me at the following number."_

What the hell is going on?!

I was confused and somewhat anxious. I had no idea why a cop from Santa Destroy would be calling me. I hadn't lived there since I was in middle school. After my mom left and my dad started working abroad more, Aunt Brieda offered me a place to stay so I wouldn't have to uproot and move around so much. I don't remember committing any crimes as a twelve-year-old, either.

I clicked in the number that Beckett recited, holding my breath as I heard the phone ring. A shuffle interrupted the buzzing sounds, and that same gruff voice answered to me.

_"This is Officer Beckett, how may I help you?"_

"Officer Beckett...I'm Jeane Cooldown," I replied, gripping the phone with both hands. "You called me?"

_"Oh, yes, Miss Cooldown, I'm glad you've gotten back with me."_

I breathed in. "Look, sir," I started before he could begin, wanting to knock out any bullshit before I had to listen to him for a half hour only to find out it meant nothing. "I haven't lived in Santa Destroy since I was twelve. I don't remember committing any felony, so I have no idea why you're calling me."

_"What?"_ He sounded confused. He coughed for a moment, then spoke again.

_"Oh, no, no, this isn't about you. Is your father Henry Nolan Cooldown?"_

"Yes…" I stiffened. My first immediate thought was that my dad was hurt. Something happened to him, that's why he wasn't calling!

_"Are you sitting down?"_

"Oh, God, what?" I asked, voice shaking as I sat down on my bed, ignoring Essie's head bumping into my arm, demanding attention. I wasn't ready to hear this.

"Please...just tell me he's hurt, and it's minor or something. Tell me he's okay."

_"Your father's been arrested for murder, Miss Jeane."_

"..."

**_The last moment I spent with my father while living in Santa Destroy was in the snow. It was the reason why I was skeptic of my mother's hate for the wintery weather._**

**_It wasn't a thick snow at all. The sidewalks weren't covered at all, only a faint, crystallized lining on the palm tree leaves left. It was chilly, and I was wearing my grey winter coat for the first time since I was ten._**

**_It was a Saturday. I know that because Dad had custody of me on the weekends. I wish he'd gotten the weeks instead of my mother. Whenever I needed help on my math homework, I could just walk up to him instead of timidly asking my mother to borrow the phone._**

**_We were spending our last day together before my departure at the field behind the baseball stadium. I was a bit too old to be playing things such as tag or hide and seek, but I enjoyed being outside, and I wanted to make this day count. After a good half hour of running around, tagging each other, I knelt down on the dewy grass, panting, watching my breath puff up into a visible cloud of mist._**

**_He smiled, and we went to a café to warm up. I sipped my hot chocolate gratefully. We talked. I updated him on school, he told me of his first venture abroad, a trip to India._**

**_I stared at the glass table in front of us as he talked. I wasn't jealous, just...sad. He wrapped an arm around my shoulder and told me it'd only be temporary, that he would be able to visit me on birthdays._**

**_That he loved and would miss me._**

"...What?"

_"I'm sorry you had to find out this way. I wanted to come to Seattle physically, but every man is needed here to help solve the crime."_

I pressed my free hand against Essie's back to keep it occupied, staring at the wall. I probably gripped her a bit too hard because she started to bite me.

"...It's a mistake, right? H-he's just there for questioning…?"

He paused for a moment.

_"His DNA, his fingerprints...were found at the scene. The evidence is incriminating. I'm sorry."_

I couldn't speak. My father, a murderer…? No. There had to be some mistake, a problem with the DNA results, a smudge on the fingerprints that would record to look like my dad's…

_"I know for a fact that you had nothing to do with this, but is there anything you could tell me that might help us, Miss Jeane?" he asked. "Anything that could help us discover what happened, potentially help his alibi?"_

"N-no…" I stuttered, wincing as Essie bit me again, jumping off my bed in a sassy manner. "Nothing...we haven't talked in a few weeks, I...I thought he was on a business trip…"

I heard the faint noise of a pen scratching on notebook paper.

_"Thank you anyway, Miss. Is...there anything I can do for you?"_

I shuddered a bit, unable to help myself, before shaking my head.

"No," I replied after realizing this cop couldn't see me or my actions. "...who...who is..."

_"The victim? His name was Wallace Batt, a cousin of the Pizza Batt family, if you remember them. He was the mayor of Santa Destroy."_

I wanted to vomit.

"...Okay...c-can I go now?"

_"Yes, Miss. Please, keep my number and call me if you need anything. I'm very sorry."_

_Click._

I put the phone down in a haste, grabbing for the remote to my T.V. I fumbled with the buttons. I decided to go with WNC, the World News Channel, as they'd be more likely to show this kind of thing.

My eyes watered with horror as I watched. A pretty female reporter sat at her desk in the newsroom, spouting out information as if it were the sensational story of the year, the headline "FAMOUS CAR MANUFACTURER ARRESTED FOR MURDER OF WELL-LOVED MAYOR" blaring out in red font on the ticker at the bottom of the screen.

_"Today at approximately 5:15 PM the owner of Cooldown Industries, Henry Cooldown, was arrested for the murder of Wallace Batt, the mayor of Santa Destroy, California. Friends and associates of Batt found the victim murdered viciously in his home, covered in blood. Fingerprints and DNA samples from Cooldown were found at the scene, and witnesses placed the business man at the prime location between the hours of four and 6:00 PM. Police and investigators are currently looking for more evidence to present at trial. Cooldown has been incarcerated at Santa Destroy Prison with no opportunities of getting out on bail."_

I dashed out of the hall, running straight to the bathroom. I didn't even shut the door, I simply threw the toilet seat up and promptly vomited.

Trembling, I yanked down the lever to flush, hot tears running down my eyes. I heard the house phone begin to ring again, and I ignored it, trying to get my bearings.

No, it couldn't be true...but everything around me was telling me it was. My father...could be a murderer.

I washed my face in the bathroom sink, using a towel to dry off. I screamed into the towel to let off steam, letting the plush cloth muffle my agony. I took a moment to get composed long enough to have a rational thought.

Get to Santa Destroy.

I briskly walked back to my room, digging out a suitcase and a duffel bag out from underneath all the other shit I own. I unzipped both and started throwing clothes into them, not even worrying about folding them. It wasn't important. I went through my bottom drawer and grabbed the money I had saved from working on the weekends and through other ventures, rolling it up and stuffing it into my pocket.

Then I went downstairs to Aunt Brieda's file cabinet, going through the boxes until I found the old address book she used to use before I got her a new, cuter one for her birthday. I sat on the floor, legs folded pretzel-style, flipping through the pages in a haste. I knew I had one relative in Santa Destroy, but I couldn't remember his name or address.

"Come on, dammit…" I stressed, biting my lip as I scanned and scanned. Near the back of the book, I finally found him.

Travis Touchdown  
>No More Heroes Motel, R2<br>Santa Destroy, CA 92021-1050


End file.
